Chapter 1

1

“Hey, ma.” Grant Singer tucked the phone between his neck and shoulder. A series of pots bubbled on his stove and he grabbed a spatula to stir the saucepan closest to him.

“Honey,” his mother said, her voice warm and filled with affection. “How are you? How’s work?”

“I’m good, Ma. Work is good.” He frowned at the sauce before hitting the speaker button on his phone and setting it on the counter at a safe distance. “What are you and Dad up to?”

“Keeping busy. I’m watching the kids today, and your father is supposed to be washing the windows on the back side of the house, but it’s been over an hour since I’ve seen him, so he’s probably buried himself in the garage.” His mother must have pulled the phone away from her ear because her voice faded. “Say hi to Uncle Grant, everyone.”

“Hi, Uncle Grant,” Grant’s nieces and nephews chorused obediently.

He smiled. Picturing the four kids sprawled out in his parent’s living room like he and his sister had growing up.

“But that’s not why you called, honey. What’s up?”

Grant stirred at the sauce once again. “I’m making your pasta in garlic-mushroom sauce—”

His mother broke in before he could finish. “Is this a date? This has to be a date. You know I made that for your father on our first date.”

“And used so much garlic I had heartburn for a week.” Grant’s father inserted himself in the conversation.

“Hush, you,” Grant’s mother scolded. “You loved that dish.”

“I pretended to like it to not hurt your feelings.”

“It was over fifty years ago. Not like you can remember.”

“I can remember fine.”

“Guys,” Grant raised his voice to be heard over their bickering. “Guys.”

“What is it, dear?” his mother asked. Her voice sounded smug after once again proving her love to her husband by disagreeing with him.

Parents. Grant shouldn’t have bothered. Worse, now that she knew he had a date, his mother wouldn’t stop calling until he shared all the details. He crossed his fingers, hoping he’d be able to give a positive report. “I need some help with the recipe.”

“More garlic,” his mother said firmly.

“Less garlic,” his father added, his tone just as firm.

“Love you both. Got to go.” Grant stirred his simmering sauce. He’d go with option three: leaving the amount of garlic he used, exactly the same. At least hearing his parents, even briefly, had settled his nerves. If two such mismatched people could find love, so could he.

* * * *

“Are you sure I can’t offer you anything else?” Grant asked, his voice tinged with mortification. Despite the hours of preparation, Robert, his date for the evening, had left most of his meal uneaten. It was Grant’s fault. With all of his planning he never considered whether the entree qualified as “gluten-free.”

“Really, it’s fine.” Robert pushed away from the table and patted his stomach. “I’m not a big eater anyway so the salad was more than enough.”

Grant dropped his napkin beside his own, scraped-clean plate and ushered him into the living room.

“Wow.” Robert sauntered toward the expansive wall of floor to ceiling windows that overlooked Lake Michigan. “What a view.”

Grant joined him, eager to share the January moon showcased in the night sky. The milky orb glowed a stark contrast to the inky lake below, looming so large and low Grant swore he could reach out and touch the surface.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Grant agreed. “I didn’t even look at the other rooms after this.”

“Lucky for you, the rest of the condo is so nice.” Robert settled onto the couch with a small wriggle. “Doesn’t it get annoying? All that light? I’d have to put up blinds.”

Oh. Grant smiled, a weak twist of his lips to hide his disappointment. “My mother would agree with you.”

“Why don’t you get us something to drink and come back and join me?” Robert patted the textured cushion beside him. “I’ll wait right here.”

Grant hurried into the kitchen, his steps as crisp and buoyant as his newly restored spirit. Robert seemed willing to overlook the disastrous dinner. That was a good sign, right? He hummed along with the jazz playing over the condo’s sound system, his cheeks flushed with the evening’s progress.

Except, blinds. Grant snorted. As if. His fingers stuttered across smooth crystal, the delicate glassware as hard to grab hold of as an icicle in July. He air-juggled the snifter for one heart-stopping moment before he set it down on the counter. Damn these first date nerves.